Waking up in the middle of a grassy field in the dead of night wasn’t the weirdest part — it was how real the dream felt. As Daniel brought himself to his feet, dead leaves in the grass crunched beneath his boots, and the air was thick and humid, like it had rained just yesterday.

He checked the pockets of his puffy yellow jacket: nothing but his wallet and his phone, though his headphones were still around his neck. Daniel knit his eyebrows, glancing around at the dark forest. Why was it all so real? He must’ve taken the drowsy allergy pills instead of their non-drowsy counterparts; maybe that would explain a fever dream like this.

An explosion burst over the horizon, swelling into a sun of power. Daniel watched the light show and laughed to himself. “Oh, this must be one of those dream explosions where it doesn’t actually feel—”

The shockwave came a second later. It charged through the trees, spraying him with a wave of twigs and sticks, and before he could even recover, a second thunderous explosion rumbled through his bones.

Daniel ran.

He ran for his life, feet pounding against the pitch-black dirt, shielding his face against a branch. His next stride struck a dead tree. Daniel fell face first into a puddle of mud, but the ringing in his ears muted the splash. As he rolled over, a bright purple plume of light rose into the sky, and another explosion followed, like two firework factories having an argument.

Each blast sent him scrambling away. What the hell was going on? Why was he so afraid? This was a dream, for crying out loud! His ankle throbbed where it had slammed into the wood. Why did it hurt so badly? This wasn’t real — it was just a dream!

…right?

The forest thinned out. Across the street, a bar sat nestled between two taller buildings. Shadows moved behind the bright stained glass windows. The next explosion sent him rushing inside, and he flung the door open. Two men sat at a table off to the side, and a middle-aged woman wiped the bar counter.

Though the windows rattled from the battle outside, they all stared like he was insane.

“Uh…you need something?” One of the men sitting at the table called out to him.

“I-I don’t—” Daniel stammered, struggling to find the right words. “Where is this? I don’t know where I am. I woke up in—” he licked his lips, mouth parched and dry.

The other man at the table laughed, grinning underneath his gruff, thick beard. “Come on, now — a bar ain’t a place for kids your age to be playing around! Go somewhere.”

The woman cleaning the counter stopped. “Oh, leave him alone, Bill. Come on in, have a seat.”

Daniel sorted himself as he crossed the room. He tracked dirt across the tiled floor with every step, and a clump of mud stuck to his dreadlocks, but at least he had pants on. It wasn’t one of those dreams.

“What’s your name?” the woman said, pouring him a glass of tap water.

“Daniel Chase, ma’am.”

“Oh, manners! Well, Daniel, call me Mrs. Garcia. Sounds like you’re having a wild night. Do you live close to here?”

Daniel chugged down the water, savoring every gulp. “I could tell you if I knew where here was. I mean, I was just on the bus to school, and I took my headphones on to take a nap.” He sipped more water. “But then I was in that field, and stuff started exploding around me. Then I ran here.”

“Huh. Mi carino, are you busy?”

“What?” A man’s voice called out from the back. “Yes, I’m busy!”

“Come here!”

The two doors behind Mrs. Garcia swung open, and a man almost as wide as the frame itself came lumbering out, wiping his hands on a towel barely the size of his palms. Calling him fat wasn’t accurate — he had the shape and walk of a man hardened by years of work, though Daniel didn’t think the “work” would be washing dishes in a pink apron.

“I’m already starting on the dishes, mi lagarto. Do you need me to wipe the bar counter too?”

“No. I thought you’d want to meet our friend here, Daniel. He says he woke up across the street without a clue on how he got here.”

“In the Fighter Park?”

Mrs. Garcia nodded.

“Fighter Park?” Daniel asked. “What’s that?”

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“It’s an open space where Fighters go to do their thing far from everyone else,” said the man — he must’ve been Mr Garcia, Daniel thought. “Did you hit your head hard?”

“No — I mean, I might’ve, but…I don’t know,” he said. Even mere minutes later, the frantic dash through the forest had become a blur.

“I see.” Mr. Garcia ran a hand through his dark beard.

“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Garcia asked, her voice kind and warm — a nice change of pace from his own mother back home.

Daniel’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food. “Yes ma’am. I skipped breakfast this morning.” But, though he met her eyes, his gaze drifted to the stairs that led upwards, the family pictures hanging on the walls on the way. Did they live here, too?

The man chuckled. “Breakfast? It’s eleven o’clock at night, kid. You’re tired and delirious. A salad will help. That should hold you over until the police get here to help you out.”

Daniel’s heart skipped a beat as Mr. Garcia pulled his hand from his pocket, retrieving his phone. One of his best friends had barely made it through the system; she told him more than enough about the police, let alone what his parents had told him. “Wait! You don’t have to call them.”

Mr. Garcia raised an eyebrow. Mrs. Garcia lifted her chin, her stance shifting in concern.

“I’ll see if I can get a hold of my parents. They should be able to pick me up. Besides — since when are police actually useful, you know?”

He hoped for a laugh to dispel the tension — even a chuckle would’ve been nice. But, the concern in their expressions only intensified, and Daniel nervously laughed to himself.

Bad joke.

Mrs. Garcia whistled. “Okay, then…you go ahead with that burger, mi carino. I’ll finish cleaning up.”

As Mr. Garcia made his way back to the kitchen, Mrs. Garcia returned to wiping the bar counter, but her attention never left watching Daniel’s every movement. Daniel gulped down the last of his water and pulled his phone out, but he had no signal. He tried to call his mother, and the phone rang — no answer. He tried to call his father, but the line went dead. It was only after trying to call his grandma and his best friend Caleb and the random girl who he met in a group project last year and failing to reach every single person that he realized he was alone.

He was alone.

Carmen Garcia’s number stared him down at the bottom of his contacts list. If he couldn’t reach anyone else, he definitely couldn’t reach her, but…he just got her number. It couldn’t hurt to try. His hand hovered over the call button, but Daniel sighed and closed the contacts app. He wasn’t that bold — especially not for her.

The bar had free Wi-Fi, luckily, but every trace of his accounts on every social media app were erased. That was when he noticed the floating white bar on his wrist. Daniel pulled his sleeve back. A white line with a small arrow floated over his wrist, and, with a swipe, it expanded into a menu full of icons. Settings, Friends, Messages, a Map? Self? A weird one with a fist?

What the hell was going on?

At the table behind him, Bill whooped loudly, shooting out of his chair. “I told you! I told you he would win!” he cackled, accepting a fat payment from his frowning friend.

Daniel glanced at the TV, but a fighting game was the last thing he thought he’d see in a public place like this. He chuckled. “You guys play a lot of games?”

Bill stopped his celebration. “What?”

“Video games. Don’t you play them?”

“Nah, I don’t care about those stupid games. I’d rather see what’s real.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow and pointed at the TV. “Aren’t you watching a fighting game?”

“Huh? Kid, that’s not a video game. That’s down the street.”

“What?”

In the face of Daniel’s pure confusion, Bill and his friend burst into laughter. Mr. Garcia returned with his salad, but he couldn’t take his attention off of their mockery.

“He probably don't even have electricity at home!” Bill’s friend cackled.

“Where’d you blow in from, kid? Flavortown?” Bill howled, smacking the table.

“That’s enough,” Mrs. Garcia said. “It is strange, though. Even my tio knows about Fights, and he doesn’t even watch TV.”

Daniel stabbed at his salad. The creamy ranch, the crunchy croutons, and the savory lettuce helped to distract him from his spinning headache. “Yeah, I’m just…uh…from somewhere distant,” he finally said. “We don’t have…all this.”

“My tio’s from somewhere distant.” Mrs. Garcia folded her arms.

“Well, I guess not as distant as where I’m from.”

“Where are you from then, kid?” Bill called out. “I’m still betting on Flavortown.”

Daniel shook his head, scoffing. “Chicago, actually.”

Bill furrowed his eyebrow. “I haven’t seen that on any map.”

“Of course. You couldn’t navigate your way out of a ripped paper bag,” Bill’s friend said.

Bill smacked his shoulder. “Just pick another fight, man. I still got more money to bet!”

“Fine, fine.”

With a remote, Bill’s friend scrolled through channels. Daniel noticed the eccentric names. The Beast VS. MOON. Gigabyte VS. Glory. Gallium VS. Ash Disco. Did they really spend their time watching and betting on real fighting game-like fights?

Bill’s friend stopped on Ren VS. Minato. Daniel watched as the screen changed to show two men standing on a bridge, both dressed in Karate uniforms, with bars at the top showing their names. Ren was on the left, a blonde-haired man with a red gi, while Minato on the opposite side wore a clean white gi.

Bill scoffed. “They look boring. Why’d you pick this one?”

“Could you turn the TV up, please?”

Daniel’s heart dropped at the source of the voice. It was the same face he’d liked since eighth grade — he would’ve asked her out at school today, if it wasn’t for this mess. Her strong eyebrows and the freckle below her right eye was the same, but he’d never seen her wear glasses or wear her hair in a curly mess, nor did she ever clutch a book to her chest.

Carmen Garcia herself descended the stairs.